


It's not even close to your birthday

by squidmemesinc



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, enough descriptions of hands to be considered hand kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 11:53:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4563594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squidmemesinc/pseuds/squidmemesinc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shoes look like they could be some kind of gothic lolita item, with thick, tall heels and Mary Jane straps that have little silver hearts on them. The socks are simple except that they run all the way up to his mid-thigh; the crisp white makes enough of a contrast with his skin that the colors flatter each other, rather than subdue them. Then there's the dress. It's just plain black, short and slim, though the skirt flares out at the waist. Takahiro's eyes run up it, stalling where it cuts off around the shoulders and has a wide boat neck trim with a thick ivory collar. The final piece is a simple pink ribbon—not even a necklace, just a ribbon—tied around his neck with the bow in the back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's not even close to your birthday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkmagicalgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmagicalgirl/gifts).



> WTF THIS TOOK ME LIKE....A MONTH TO WRITE. Maybe longer. I have some serious writer's block right now, RIP.
> 
> Here u go buddy

The shoes look like they could be some kind of gothic lolita item, with thick, tall heels and Mary Jane straps that have little silver hearts on them. The socks are simple except that they run all the way up to his mid-thigh; the crisp white makes enough of a contrast with his skin that the colors flatter each other, rather than subdue them. Then there's the dress. It's just plain black, short and slim, though the skirt flares out at the waist. Takahiro's eyes run up it, stalling where it cuts off around the shoulders and has a wide boat neck trim with a thick ivory collar. The final piece is a simple pink ribbon—not even a necklace, just a ribbon—tied around his neck with the bow in the back.

Takahiro stares from where he stands, stuck to the kitchen floor. "I'm hallucinating," he says finally.

Issei looks up, as if he just now noticed someone else was here, even though Takahiro saw his eyes slide over to him when he came in. "Oh, hello. What are you hallucinating?"

"You're _reading_.”

He slaps the book shut and frowns at Takahiro, turning and resting his arm on the couch in a way that hikes the skirt of the dress up just a sliver more while at the same time making his shoulders look kind of obscene. Takahiro wants to bite them. "What, I try to do something nice for you and that's your only response?"

"You're reading a bird guide, Issei." Two digs for the price of one. Ironically, a saying about birds. It's perfect, but Takahiro is distracted by his hot boyfriend in a dress. He walks over to the couch, not sure if he dares to sit down.

Issei flips over the book and examines the cover. "So much for looking casual," he says. "Why do we even have this?" He tosses it onto the coffee table.

Takahiro decides he does want to sit, and he taps Issei's legs to get him to pull them in, trying to resist the urge to look up his skirt like he's in high school again. Not that there were particularly many things hidden beneath skirts that he would have liked to see, but it's definitely something he would have done if there had been, however subtly. "My aunt likes birds. She wanted me to also like birds." He sets his fingers on the couch right in front of the shoes, now working his way up to touching. "So, what's the occasion?" he asks, unsure of how well he's hiding his quickly overflowing enthusiasm. Maybe he changed the subject too casually. Maybe he should have stayed with birds for another minute.

Issei circumvents his caution and lifts his foot off the couch, running the toe of the shoe up his arm. It's cool and smooth and unscuffed. The shoes are brand new. "No occasion." He tilts his head to the side to peer over his impossibly, unfairly long legs. The ribbon peeks into view. This is another thing Takahiro feels a strong urge to bite, although more to the purpose of ripping it off with his teeth. Everything else is fine, but the pink feels like it's trying too hard. His own stylistic choice would have been black, to match, but he can imagine Issei saying he was going for 'subtle anarchy' or something else equally ridiculous, so he opts not to ask.

"You just wanted to feel pretty?" he tries to joke, missing the tone almost completely. Issei's other leg moves over Takahiro's, with the toe just gently nudging his crotch. Takahiro can't not look at this point.

Those are definitely not boxers. Oh boy. He swallows.

"Are you telling me I'm not usually pretty?" The shoe presses down a little more insistently on his dick, rubbing back and forth.

Takahiro shoves Issei’s foot aside and plants himself between his legs, leaning down to hover over his neck. Issei tilts it back, giving him access, and runs his fingers up Takahiro’s back, barely touching him. He’s still wearing a lazy smirk, of course, and he’s watching Takahiro drink in the sight of his neck and collarbone, which on any other day might be more covered than this.

“I’m surprised you lasted that long, honestly,” Issei says, amused, seeming to hold his breath as he waits for Takahiro to make contact.

Takahiro doesn’t answer him and chooses a spot to land on, right below the corner of his jaw. He mouths over it hungrily with his lips, then his teeth, pinching the skin between them. It tastes sweet, somehow, as if he’s put something on it. Takahiro wouldn’t be surprised. It’s like a birthday cake—vanilla, but far from boring. He follows the flavor down Issei’s neck, stopping to lick and suck it all from the points on him his mouth makes contact with.

He reaches up with the hand that’s not looped under Issei’s arm and slides his fingers up his throat, feeling the raspy fabric texture of the ribbon beneath them. What the hell, this is obviously a present for him, so he’s going to get the most out of it. He hooks his fingers under the offensive pink item and pulls, hard, ripping it off, freeing up more of his neck.

“My bow!” Issei complains, turning his head to follow the ribbon to the floor. His breath hitches when Takahairo bites the flesh it was covering.

“I’m unwrapping my present.”

Issei turns back and gives him a petulant look. He had liked the ribbon, apparently. “It’s not your birthday.”

Takahiro slips his hand under the skirt of the dress and ghosts his fingers along the couple dozen centimeters of thigh between the panties and the thigh highs, tilting his fingertips down so the blunt edges of his nails barely scrape across. He suddenly tightens his grip and rolls his hips down between Issei’s legs, grinding hard on him which gets him to suck in a sharp breath. “ _Clearly_ it is.”

Issei holds Takahiro’s hips firmly against his own and grinds back up on him. “Okay, fine, birthday boy. You gonna keep running your mouth, or are you going to kiss me?”

Takahiro chooses the latter option. Issei’s lips have that same sweet flavor to them, and he savors it for a few while, licking and sucking gently at them, but then pushes past into his mouth. There’s a groan that could come from either or both of them, buried between their tongues, catching on their open mouths. They rock against each other as they kiss and the skirt of Issei’s dress rides up a little further with ever movement. Takahiro slips his fingers under the waistband of his panties, resting on his hip, applying gentle pressure, but of course not where Issei wants it. The fabric is soft—silk or satin or something, Takaihiro doesn’t know, and he can feel a lace trim along the edge of it, but he hasn’t actually looked at them yet, other than the quick, stolen glimpse.

He gets too hard to be satisfied by just kissing and grinding and lifts himself off of Issei, who keens after him. “What?” he demands. Takahiro breathes in and enjoys the view from this angle. The dress has slipped up slightly, and he can see the edge of his underwear on one side (white, it looks like) and the obvious tent under it. The socks are staying up surprisingly well, and his neck looks a lot better wearing only a slight flush, a slow-blooming hickey, and no pink ribbon.

“I want to suck your dick,” Takahiro says, pushing up the black fabric covering it to get a better look. There’s a little pink bow at the center of the waistband (pastel this time, not magenta, which he doesn’t find intrusive to this scenario). His cock straining hard against the fabric makes the picture more obscene and dirty than it would on a girl, but of course Takahiro likes that.

Issei slides down on the couchand slides the dress up a little higher, opening his thighs more. “I’m not going to stop you.”

Takahiro palms over his thighs, feeling the stretchy, soft material of the socks give way to skin. He leans down over his cock, the tip of which has escaped from the panties, and breathes over it. First, open-mouthed and warm, then pursing his lips together to blow cool air on the hot flesh. Issei makes a noise of frustration when he rolls his hips and Takahiro ducks out of reach, laughing. “Don’t be a tease,” he grumbles.

Takahiro smirks and hooks a finger under the waistband and pulls them down, and Issei’s cock rises up towards him. He takes it into his mouth without any further pretense, keeping eye contact the whole time, sinking low over it quickly. He wraps his hand around the base, rubbing smooth, firm circles over the underside of the warm, dry flesh with his thumb. In a second, Issei’s hands are fisted in the shoulders of his shirt, and one of the heels is resting on his back, and he’s letting out a soft moan at the heat of Takahiro’s mouth.

“ _God, Takahiro_ ,” he breathes, rocking up against the steady pressure he’s applying.

“Hmmm?” Takahiro hums, smirking around him, making him tighten his grip on his shoulders. He pulls off and spends a little time running his tongue and lips up the side, slicking the rest of him up so he can work his hand over him easier. When he takes him in again, he moves in hard, fast strokes, keeping his mouth tight and pulling off to his tip but never slipping out, then sinking back down as low as he can. Issei watches him and moves up against him rhythmically. He breathes out gentle moans and slides up Takahiro’s shirt with his heel.

Takahiro sucks at the head for a bit, pushing down into the foreskin with the tip of his tongue before flicking across his slit again. He moves his hand up to rub under the ridge below his head, smoothing the pad of his thumb over it and back down the spit-slicked flesh. Issei shivers and bucks up against him until Takahiro takes pity on him and slides back down, resuming a regular rhythm.

“I think I’m—ahh—enjoying this too much,” he struggles to say after a bit.

Takahiro lifts his head up, letting Issei’s cock slide out of his mouth, though he still strokes it gently with his hand. “Oh?”

“Takahiro, _fuck me._ ”

“Bedroom?”

“There’s lube on the table,” Issei points out, flipping his hand out at it impatiently.

Takahiro turns his head and spies the bottle. “So there is. Issei, you dirty little perv. What if the neighbors came by to borrow our sugar?”

“Then they’d have seen a 190 centimeter tall man in a dress and heels,” he grins back.

“And they’d have been very jealous of his boyfriend,” Takahiro returns, tugging the panties down Issei’s legs. He does it carefully, so he doesn’t mess with the socks, but they are determined to stay up, it seems. Takahiro is fond of these persistent little socks, though he wonders if they have some kind of secret. He drops the removed garment a little sadly to the floor, sorry to see it go, but recognizing the necessity, and takes the bottle from the table to slick up his fingers.

He leans down over Issei again, coming back to his neck, and bites down on the thick muscle above his collarbone as he slowly pushes one finger in. Issei twitches, from the bite most likely, and squeezes Takahiro’s shoulders. Takahiro sucks along the mark his teeth made and pumps his finger in and out smoothly.

“It’s been a while since we’ve done this,” Issei says, running his nails over Takahiro’s back.

Takahiro looks up and peers at him, wearing a lazy smile. “We just had sex yesterday.”

Issei grabs his nose and shakes uses it to shake his head back and forth a little before letting go. “I mean you fucking me, smartass.”

Takahiro sniffs to soothe the discomfort in his nostrils and slips another finger in, curling them up. Issei closes his eyes and shifts his hips. “Last Saturday,” Takahiro says.

Issei peeks an eye open. “Considering how often we fuck, that was a while ago.”

“Point taken,” Takahiro agrees, pressing his fingers in deep and straight and spreading them apart, making him inhale through his nose.

“You’re good at this, is what I meant to say.”

Takahiro smiles again and pecks him gently on the lips. “Thank you for the generous compliment, my love.”

“You’re welcome, my love.” Issei pulls him down for another, more thorough kiss. They take it easy and slow, curled up in each other on the couch. Takahiro eventually adds another finger, which even gets Issei to moan quietly and squeeze around his shoulders. He twists his fingers a little as he pumps them in and out, pressing in deep to squeeze up against the sensitive nerves of his prostate, grinning when he earns a sharp gasp for his trouble.

Takahiro pushes in a third finger, feeling Issei's muscles twitch around him. He lifts his fingers at the base, stretching the rim and rubbing at it with the thickest part of them before drawing them back and thrusting in harder. Issei makes a choked sound and Takahiro feels sharp pricks of nails pressing through his shirt and into his back. He draws his hand back and grabs a tissue from the box on the table to clean it off.

He wads up the tissue and tosses it on the table before working on finally freeing himself from his pants. His dick aches to be touched and he stifles a soft sob when he pushes his pants down his legs. The air is cold and unforgiving, and he is red and wanting. He can feel Issei smirking at him, apparently having recovered from his wanton and writing status of a minute ago. Takahiro grabs the lube again hurriedly and doesn’t even bother to warm it up before slathering it over his cock, and the touch feels so good he can’t resist giving himself a few hard strokes.

Well, it starts with a few and then he can’t make himself tear his hand away. Issei clears his throat. “Having fun?”

“Just give me a second,” Takahiro gasps.

“You know, my ass is like, right here.” Issei gently kicks him with the heel of the Mary-Jane.

“Yeah, I know.” Takahiro groans and rips his hand away, shifting closer to Issei on the couch. He wraps his hand around his dick instead. “Here, I got too much.”

Issei grunts and swats at his hand. “You don’t have to manhandle me, fuck, be gentle.”

Takahiro snickers and wipes the rest of it off on his thigh, gripping Issei’s hips towards him. “Sorry, I guess I don’t know how to treat a lady.”

Issei flips him off and promptly curls the finger back into a tight fist with the rest of his hand when Takahiro starts pushing in. Fast at first, then slower, easing into him. “Ugh, fuck…” he groans.

“Bad?” Takahiro asks, rubbing his hip gently, ignoring the instincts that would have him move. It feels really nice; it always does. But of course he’s going to be considerate.

Issei shakes his head. “No, good. C’mere.” He flaps his fingers at Takahiro, who’s too far away for him to hold onto.

Takahiro moves down against him, pushing his arm into the space between Issei and the couch to support himself, and kisses his nose. He rocks gently into Issei, who lets out a soft moan and tightens his fingers in Takahiro’s shirt. His legs curl around his thighs—Takahiro can feel the cool plastic-y material of the heel on his skin, and the slightly scratchy part where it ends in a rubber sole.

Issei moans again when Takahiro rolls his hips with slightly more insistency, and Takahiro licks at his parted lips. They kiss again, not that Takahiro minds. He wouldn’t mind if it always came back to this. Of course, the sex is nice—great—but sometimes the kissing feels more intimate, more changeable to whatever mood they’re in. Right now they’re just playing with each other, chasing each other’s tongues and tugging without conviction at each other’s lips with their teeth. Takahiro matches his thrusts to the pacing of their kissing—not slow, but not too fast either. He moans and pants to Issei’s grunts and whines, shifting under Issei’s short nails running along his back, gripping his ass to pull his hips closer.

So Takahiro thrusts faster, gasping at the sensation of friction. He moves his hand under Issei’s back and twists his fingers in the fabric of the dress. It’s thick and slightly textured, and the heat of his skin is warm underneath it. They’re pressed hard against each other; he can feel Issei’s cock slipping between them where his own shirt has been pulled up, and from the way sounds Issei is making, he’s enjoying the sensation of it being trapped between them.

Issei hugs him closer and presses his face into Takahiro’s neck, losing the breath for kissing. Hot air from puffs across Takahiro’s shoulder and his moans vibrate across his skin. Takahiro moves his hips harder, knowing they’re both close.

“Nn, Taka _hiro_ —” Issei groans, his arms tightening around his shoulders. His hips are moving erratically back against him, matching his movements sloppily. Takahiro grunts his name back and he suddenly clenches around him, making a sticky mess between their stomachs. The added tightness brings Takahiro to his own climax and he thrusts through it.

He leaves his arm pinned under Issei’s back, but flat now, instead of clenched tight in the fabric of the dress. He pulls out and wedges himself between Issei and the couch, more comfortable when Issei scoots over to accomadte him, and runs his other hand across the stretchy fabric covering his thighs as he lets his eyes drift closed.

“Okay, but why is all of the jizz on _me_?” Issei asks grumpily, reaching for the box of tissues on the table.

Takahiro starts laughing and doesn’t stop for an entire minute, burying his face in the couch cushions. Issei stuffs the used tissues up the back of his shirt, which sobers him up. He digs them out and throws them on the floor, where they’re accumulating a graveyard of items, layered with the timeline of sex. Issei tugs his skirt down, to what effect, Takahiro isn’t sure.

“You’re making me self-conscious now,” Takahiro says, flipping the skirt up again.

Issei snorts. “Sure I am. You’re not the one in a dress.”

“It looks good on you.” Takahiro eyes the band across his shoulder, which looks crisp and clean, and the mark next to it blooming on his neck.

“I didn’t say it didn’t. I’m just saying, I feel just as exposed as you are.”

“Shower? Clothes? What about dinner? I’m starving.”

“Hmm. Sounds good. You start cooking and I’ll shower first.”

Takahiro nods, but doesn’t move. “In a minute.” He also doesn’t move his arm from where it’s slung around Issei’s back.

Issei pokes him gently in the stomach. “You’re the one who said he was hungry.”

“Ughhhh, fine,” Takahiro groans, forcing himself to sit up. He leans over and reaches for his pants, but spies the panties instead. “Hey, what if I wore these while cooking?” He holds them up and stretches them across the waistband.

“Then we’d probably have to postpone showers until later,” Issei says, smirking.


End file.
